In the movies, one sees the lead and his lady on deck of a sailingboat on calm seas and yet sailing along nicely, the stars are way toomany and stretch from horizon to horizon. They are dressedappropriately (which is barely) there are nice little rigging-creakingand water-slapping-hull noises. The balmy wisps of wind in thecockpit stir the leading lady's hair. Think "Joe and the Volcano",heh heh. Of course all of us "real" sailors look at that and say…"Bull!"

And yet here it is come to life… almost. On this trip we have seenconditions like that a couple times. As I sit here tonight it's truethat we are motor sailing (making 6 knots out of 2k RPMs), cheating toget all the easting we can before we get south enough to be in thetrades for real. But last night we were doing it sans motor. It'salso true that my leading lady is at home (sniff). We have a goodforecast for basically more of the same. One friend simply said…"Looks like you have some good sailing ahead". Indeed we do. I havethe midnight to three am watch, the new moon sunk right after sunset.I've figured out how to make a recliner on the cockpit sole using oneof those folding portable seats so my feet are up on the starboardbench with my toes pointing at Sirius (or is it Betelgeuse?).Betelgeuse (or is it Sirius?) is reciprocating by splashing her (his?)light down on the glassy waters back toward me. And did you know thatthat star twinkles in colors? Orion is hunting the Pleiades; thoseshy sisters are going to give him the slip below the horizon soon. Ican see the 24 mile radar at the nav-station below (it's blank) and Iget up and stretch once in a while and have a visual look around.

Robert A. Heinlein once described the military as being comprised ofthree departments, the Department of Dirty Tricks, the Surprise PartyDepartment, and the Ferry Godmother Department. I'm paraphrasing herebut bear with me… the Ferry Godmother Department is comprised of oneelderly GS-something clerk typist who occasionally puts down herknitting to pull a name out of a hat and do something nice for them.

This trip came to me directly out of the blue from the FGD. There maybe hundreds or even thousands of people out tramping around catchingrides on sailboats going here and there around the planet but it'sstill a small pool compared against the ever-increasing number ofyachts going places. So I get offers quite often but there has to bethe right combination of things to get me to go. It should besomeplace I have wanted to go to but have not yet made it. It has tobe a nice, comfortable, hospitable boat; the captain can't be a jerk.The expenses have to be paid by the captain/owner (including travelto and from the boat) and if I can make a few bucks that's nice too.

In this case a friend from a previous trip, Cliff sent me a messageabout this trip from Marsh Harbor in the Abacos to Saint Thomas in theUS Virgin Islands. I've been to Marsh Harbor and while I love theAbacos it wouldn't have been enough to turn the trick. But St. Thomasnow… a landfall in paradise complete with volcanic mountains thatappear to rise up out of the sea -- now that's something. The captainwas an unknown, and among the few things we did know about him wasthat he was an ex-navy orificer (not a good indicator in the "notbeing a jerk" department). But Cliff had asked him point blank, "Areyou an asshole", and after a brief pause Chuck had responded… "Well Idon't think so". And Chuck has not been a Jerk to us. He has been afriend who shares everything on the boat, spins a great yarn, and caneven carry a tune. This boat, Gypsy Wind, is an Island Packet 45. Sheis a heavy displacement full keel cruiser that carries 150 gallons offuel and 250 gallons of water, and all the toys. When it got "a bitsporting" out here couple days ago I found the ride to be veryacceptable. She is a cutter rig, and with the luff of the foresailtaught and the traveler on the mainsheet up to the high side she movesto windward well. Ok ok, so with all that and a slight little kickfrom the "iron genny" she moves well to windward. And we need topinch those extra few degrees into the wind too for the conventionalwisdom on this route is to "take your easting when you can get it".Once we are south enough to be in the trades proper the winds will besteady from the east and still needing hundreds of miles to get southwe could be pushed down into Puerto Rico or even Hispaniola.

This trip came along at about the right time too. One of my heroes,Jon Turk, recently summed it up by quoting Melville from Moby Dick.

"Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is adamp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myselfinvoluntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up therear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos getsuch an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle toprevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, andmethodically knockingpeople's hats off--then, I account it high time to get to sea as soonas I can."

While I hadn't actually taken to knocking peoples hats off, I wascertainly talking to drivers of other cars and cursing traffic lights…a bad sign.

So. I needed to go to sea, I trusted Cliff's judgment in the "not ajerk" department, there was a desirable destination, a paying gig toboot. Could I afford the time? No. Is it fair to leave Kerri tofend the fort? No.

Nevertheless here I am.

I have my own "room" in the stern quarter port side. There is a bigcomfortable berth; one door leads into the galley and salon whileanother leads to the aft head. The head has a big shower that'sawesome in that it's a very practical and clever design as well asfunctional even in a seaway.

On watch I'm in my recliner. I can stargaze up between the dodger andbimini canvas to watch the stars. Some ancients held the cosmologicalbelief that we are just a speck ridding on the slime on the back of agreat turtle. Indeed here I am ridding the wet and slippery surfaceof this planet which is also a ship hurtling thru space -- a star shipof sorts. And this star ship must be passing thru space junk becauseon each night of this voyage I've seen many shooting stars. Enoughmeteors to surly qualify as a meteor shower. I've counted dozens ofthem; 50 in one three hour watch before I got bored with the countingof them. Some of these meteors break into parts as they burn into theatmosphere. Some leave blazing smoky trails. I've pretty much provedthe wishing on falling stars thing is bunk. I tried it on each ofthose occasions and yet Kerri never did appear beside me.

The Koreans have a saying; "to begin well is to be half finished".When we left Marsh harbor we had an escort of spotted dolphins. Asmall pod including what I took to be a family complete with a baby.I took up memory on the chip in my camera trying for a good shot ofthem despite the poor light. I've just checked them and found onewith the baby just nosing back into the water after going flying on agreat leap! It's a great photo. A little later I described my greenflash experiences to Chuck and Cliff. We talked about it at length asthe great orange orb sank into a nearly straight-line horizon. Andlow and behold! We were rewarded with one of those celestialemeralds. Talk about beginning well! Two wonderful omens.

Tune in next time when we encounter Caribbean Contrails or Pilots ofthe Caribbean!

We live in the space age. In this age, how many people do you knowwho will set out on a journey in the wilderness of seven days or more?Seven days from departure to destination, continuous travel, nostops. Well you know one anyway.

Victor Hugo knew the value of a trip into the wilds.

"…walk with a softened heart in this wilderness; it is as voluptuousas spring and as melancholy as autumn; wander about at random; leavebehind you the ruined abbey, lose yourself in the moving peace of theravines, amid the song of birds and the rustle of leaves; drink freshspring water in your cupped hand; walk, meditate, forget."

When I'm at sea I understand that I am in the most vast and accessiblewilderness available to me. Chuck is an engineer and did the mathfor what we in the Air Farce referred to as "gee-whiz" figures. Heexplained how, using only a square pie, he could figure out the areaof ocean we could see around us when standing upon the coach roof. Ithink the number was about 55 square miles. I'm no mathamagician soI'll simply take his word for it.

Sometimes the horizon is unbroken for three hundred and sixty degreesout there. I can see a good long way where I've been and also whereI'm going. That extends into the realm of metaphor as well, as mymind is unburdened of over stimulation I relax, I meditate, I forget.I can see mistakes I've been making, and false paths, wrong actionsand I can find remedies. I can also see right actions! I can alsodream about the future.

Riding off to our right for much of the trip and at great altitudewere jet airliners. Those glistening metal tubes of tour-rats headedfor the islands, left in their wakes the condensed water clouds calledcontrails. "Caribbean Contrails" according to Chuck who also insistedthat the picture I took of them should be titled "Pilots of theCaribbean" heh heh. I like Chuck. He is a kind of a renaissance guywith his art in music and his use of malapropisms in wit. He is alsoclever in business and generous with sharing of his boat and it'sfacilities. He has had this romantic notion of sailing his own boatdown to the Virgin Islands and he is determined to make this more of aguys outing than an employer/employee voyage. The other shoe failingto fall, Cliff and I, guardedly at first, participated and graduallycame to just enjoy the trip.

Highflying omens aside, we traveled the fringes of satellite receptionwith the sat-phone often silently searching for a signal, and themusic from space cutting in and out on the stereo. We resorted tomore old-fashioned means of entertainment…

For instance… we had books and CD's and while those are not so oldfashioned there was also a guit-box strapped to the wall of Chucksforward stateroom and he does know his way around that instrument.One sunny afternoon while the satellite radio signal was playing hideand seek with our receiver chuck played a couple tunes for us. Onewas a Robert Earl Keen song "The Road Goes on Forever and the PartyNever Ends" and another one I'm sure almost all of you will know wasJohn Denver's "Country Road". I can tell you that coming in a time ofscarcity of sensory input, a veritable desert, these songs ring clearin my memory forever and now when I listen to "the road goes on" Ifeel the swaying of Gypsy Wind on the Atlantic swell and the silkywarm feel of trades on my skin.

My apologies but I really do need to back up a little bit. I spoketoo little of getting out there as I began writing these trip reportswhile at sea. Now that I'm back here in frozen Annapolis I can relatemore clearly to those feelings of getting underway. I suppose itbegan with the flight from Baltimore.

Kerry dropped Cliff and I off at the kiss-and-go-valley betweenterminal and parking tower at an ungodly hour of a cold predawnBaltimore winter's morning. Only the promise of sunshine and crystalwaters sustained me and pulled a balance against the guilt of onceagain flying off and leaving Kerri to fend the fort.

Once inside we got our tickets thru an almost 100% automated systemand thru security that has gotten so routine as to make one fearfulthat gaps must certainly be plain to those of devious mind. My mindwas set on the near future as I perused our itinerary… two stops andplane changes before Marsh Harbor including what looked like it couldbe an OJ at Miami International. A small price to pay really… Andindeed it was merely the common up/downs; hurry up and wait's ofmodern day air travel with a few exceptions.

At Baltimore while Cliff and I waited for the Micky-D's to open up (itwas that early) so we could get some java, a Hispanic man who was kindof wandering, a bit lost looking, caught our eyes. When we bothsmiled and nodded a greeting to him he came in for a landing and triedsome Spanish on us that we didn't understand. He made himself clearwith pantomime and a few Spanish words that we did understand. Heheld his ticket out to us saying… "no `tiendo" and then pointing tohis watch. So Cliff took a look at his ticket, and hustled him off toget to him to his gate in another concourse. It's funny (funny oddnot funny heh heh) that of everyone in the terminal this man wasinvisible but to us. Why don't we help each other more?

---- These next few paragraphs are a reflection of my strange mind andyou can skip them if you like----

Since I had some time to kill while Cliff was off doing his "bonaction", I did some daydreaming. While I'm in Airports, and I'mbored, I sometimes play a game. I pretend I'm a time traveler fromthe future and I'm on an important mission to the past. I marvel atthe dress of the individuals, as I shift uncomfortably in my ownperiod clothing. I marvel at how they operate as single unitsunconnected by the net. To me, an advanced modern person, I'm amazedthat people can function this way and remain sane. I ping the linkthat stays active to the future net to reassure myself.

As always on these missions, I'm amazed at the complete and total lackof anything natural in the caves of the airport. It's a world ofpetroleum based synthetics, steel, and aluminum. And those metals aresolid instead of foamed… incredible decadence. Not only are thepeople isolated by a lack of a network but also they seem to work hardat maintaining this poise of individuality, this fiction that they aresomehow functioning outside of a clan. True there are small nodes ofhuman interaction among families and coworker travelers but even theseseem sterile and clunky, just as uploading to the net used to beaccomplished by manually typing letters thru an "input" device such asa "keyboard", or even more antique methods of "punch cards".

I move thru the crowd with great difficulty. The link to the nethelps run odds on how to maneuver with the flow… to pass this oncomingperson on the right or left, he is smaller than me but has moredelta-v; he's dressed more expensively and moves with purpose. Howare these people managing to do this without an AI controllingtraffic? This person is uniformed and carrying an amazing array ofweapons. The network highlights each one and outlines the dangers ofeach -- a club, irritant aerosol gasses, a chemical reaction leadprojectile firing weapon… highly lethal. The net reminds me thatthese are not idol threats; people get gunned down in these syntheticcaves sometimes for merely acting out of normal.

------- Anyway you get the point. It's an interesting mental exercisethat causes me to become an outlander in my own homeland; it's anotherkind of people watching. Some people knit… ----

On the flight over from Miami I get a fantastic view of Grand Bahamawith Great Sael in the background. And then the backcountry of theshallows behind Little Abaco and Great Abaco came into view with asmattering of the out islands off in the distance. All those places Imust show to Kerri.

On the ground in Marsh harbor we went thru a pretty informal arrivalprocedure. And if it's friendlier than in some other places I've been…form follows function. "Are dees your baigs". "Yes they are". "Andwatts in dem?". "Just some cloths, swim suites and snorkel gear"."OK, next in line".

And then I was out front with Cliff and somehow Chuck figured out whowe were and we figured out who he was. He even had a rental car!Cliff looked at my bag and asked me where I got it… oh oh!

Once Cliff backtracked for his checked bag and got thru customs wewere off to see the boat.

"So you've been to Marsh Harbor before George?" "Yes I have Chuck""Well lets get some lunch, do you prefer Sapodilly's or Mangoes?" "…uh".

You see my budget never allowed for Sapodilly's or Mangoes. There wasa little take out place a few blocks up from the waterfront but Icould hardly recommend that to Chuck.

"Oh either one would suite me fine". I finally answered not sononchalantly as I might have wished. I had a great grouper sandwichin the shade of an open-air deck overlooking the harbor and theturquoise sea of Abaco beyond. I ached to get out of blue jeans andinto shorts and Tevas.

The boat inspection went well. Cliff and I poured over the decks andafter making a few minimal changes (ringdings in a few lifelineconnections and mouseing a few shackles) and inspecting everything wecould get our eyes on, we were satisfied that the boat was seaworthy.

We got our provisioning done that afternoon. We enjoyed a relaxingevening writing email and such from the bar over the restaurant at theend of a dock where Gypsy Wind tugged at her bindings. They also hadgreat showers (which I had sneaked a few times as a cruiser) and weavailed ourselves of those. The next morning we met the folks fromthe two boats that were supposed to "buddy boat" with us on our trip.This was perhaps the only thing I had any trepidation about at thetime… and rightly so.

Here is page number four already! So getting underway will continuenext time along with the story of the stingray that didn't attack me!

When I first came to Sebastian I reported it as coming home to a placeI'd never been before. Outside there are the sounds of busy insects,the trickle of the fresh water spring that feeds down into the lagoon,even some night birds. There is the occasional "plop" in the deeperpools of a frog or perhaps even maybe a heron hunting. Lightning bugsplay along the brush at its short banks. The smell of night jasminesometimes wafts into the open screen window mingled with salt air anda base note of low tide decay. Terri actually saw a pair of ottersplaying in this little creek a few days ago. There is also theoccasional Harley sneaking down the river road on it's way from Earl'sHideaway to points North and ridding right by Arlo Guthrie's house (Idon't want a pickle). Sometimes a train up on the tracks to the westrumbles the ground (Feel the wheels rumblin' 'neath the floor) andwails it's air horns and there is often a general low background whitenoise of cars on US 1. It's an easy walk to the super Wally world andthere is a weak but usable wifi connection. So it's not all naturehere but if you squint a little you can see magic. All in all it's agreat place to flop.

We had a very rough start to this trip. Wildflower didn't want tocooperate at all. We had left around sundown on 6 February but madeit no further than the Wilson Bridge over the Potomac when the enginepower faded and the snow began to fall. What followed was a 25 mphlimp home on two cylinders and 10 days of working on a vehicle outsidein sub freezing temperatures. Oh yes and more snow, and then an icestorm that knocked out our power for 36 hours… We heat with allrenewable fuel (we live in the great northeast hardwood forest andknow how to use Craig's list and a chain saw) so the house was stillwarm enough but working outdoors in sub freezing temperatures withouteven an electric space heater to keep myself from actually sticking tothe metal engine was brutal. Woof!

Once we did get going things didn't go all that well either but one byone we managed to get to the bottom of all the little bugs that wereplaguing this "ship" and here we are!

But you don't want to hear about the frozen north… oh no, you want tohear about the warm southern breezes that sent Gypsy Wind on such afantastic little voyage. At the least I owe you explanationsconcerning the buddy boats that weren't and the sinister stingray thatwasn't.

The day we left Marsh Harbor was about as shiny a day as comes to theSea of Abaco. The winds were out of the north and settling down afterthe blow of a norther. My experience with these frontal passages toldme that we would see the wind clock around to the east before too longand I was anxious to get underway. Unfortunately Chuck had agreed tobuddy boat with a couple boats that I thought we were ill matched withand this proved to be very true.

Michael and his spouse on a ketch rigged boat of around 50 feet andJohn a single-hander of a Hunter 40 something were readying fordeparture. Michael had flown in a crewmember that had littleexperience but would round out his crew well. John was going it alonebut insisted that it was "no big deal". The first problem was thatMichael with his 6 feet of draft needed high tide to get out of themarina and that would not be for 4 more hours. It was already aroundnoon when we pulled out and we might have gotten an even earlier startbut knew that hurrying would do no good. We were slaves to the moon.So we opted to wait out by the pass for the others to get out.

One nice thing about all this was it gave me a chance to snorkelaround a bit and even though it was only the grass and sand of thebank, it was still splendid. Among other small tropical fish I sawthose colorful little wrasse fish that hide in broken shells, a fewundersize queen conch, and one stingray. My heart did a little tickat the sight of that last critter. Ever since the crock hunter and afisherman in Florida were killed by stingray "attacks", I've beenwondering if these guys have decided to like… strike back orsomething. I had never previously thought of them as dangerous beyonda painful sting. I had certainly never thought of them as a threat tolife! My folks taught us kids to shuffle our feet in the shallows toavoid a sting. Indeed I've brushed against them many times in theshallow surf of the gulf coast only to have them shimmy off into thedeeper water but I've never been stung, much less mortally skewered inthe heart. So here I was face to face with one of them (mano-a-mantaas it were) suddenly menacing looking. And there next to him a pieceof pinker than pink, the very color of that screams Bahamas, thejunkanoo's battle flag, the flamingo's underpants, a little bit ofbroken conch shell. I read once somewhere that when handed a conchshell men and women will react differently. The women tend to holdthe shell up to their ear while men cannot resist descending a fingeralong the smooth pink path that leads from the snails foyer into it'sinner sanctum.

A little flash of blue and yellow caught my eye near that shell as atiny damselfish swam away, and in that moment I knew I needed that bitof pink for to make a keepsake piece of jewelry for Kerri.

To gain the pink prize, I was going to have to brave the dragon inabout 20 feet of water. I hyperventilated briefly, caught a halfbreath, and surface dived. A couple dolphin kicks got me thru neutralbuoyancy to negative as the water pressure increased and collapsed mylungs. I dropped with as little motion as I could until about 6 feetfrom the objective the creature fluttered up in a puff of sand… andshuffled along, just as they always have. My view of stingrays asinteresting and innocent friends is restored.

I also retrieved a few small but perfectly shaped sand dollars. Ishowed them to the guys when I got back to the boat and was about totoss them back in the water when Chuck expressed an interest inkeeping them. So I found a zip lock and tucked them away.

At last the other guys came out steaming for the pass. Michaelreported that his wife had had to bow out due to illness in the familyso now he was with his inexperience crew only. Slack tide was a goodthing as the north wind was pushing waves onto the bank that built inthe shallows. The swell was setting in from the northeast so thingswere bouncy enough as it was. Nevertheless, gaining the big deep bluewas a snap. I was very very happy about the ride as Gypsy Wind had atendency to smooth out the bumps rather than pound onto them. Mykidneys were thankful. I even felt a little dopey as the realizationset in that I was going to be able to sleep easily on this trip.

I mentioned before… the dolphin escort and the green flash. Those aredeep cleansing for the soul kinds of events and I'm a big believer inomens. How many times in my life will I be allowed to cast off thechains and sail off towards the horizon putting my faith in a smallship and a small cadre of like-minded fools? I can't tell you how myheart was soaring at that point…

Still… there were the buddy boats.

First of all there seemed to me to be a lot of unnecessary radiochatter. This was all going out on 16. OK not such a biggie I bitdown on that one for the moment and just settled for imitatingMichael's British accent and manner of speech to entertain the crew…"and um, and um, and um, you may be interested to know that our speedover ground is… um… 4.3 now… over".

Also while the "PLAN" called for heading due East until we were dueNorth of St Thomas before we turned, our buddy boats drifted to theNorth first and as the wind (as was easily predictable) clocked aroundto the east, they fell to the south chasing after a tenable point ofsail. We motor sailed and finally just motored. Chuck had finallyhad enough of the chatter on 16 and called for use of an alternate forchit chat. I think that ticked Michael off. Also they seemed tothink that loosing ground to the South was OK at that early stage ofthe game. We did not like that one bit. At last we heard Michaeltalk John into hanging with him and taking off to the South. Wemotored on to the East… as planned. They deviated from theconventional wisdom of "take your easting when you can get it", andleft us because we "would not compromise". I can't say there was muchin the way of wailing or gnashing of teeth aboard Gypsy Windconcerning their departure.

When the wind built strong out of the east and the ride turned tocomplete crap we broke off to the south only enough to ease the rideand conserve fuel. When the going to the east was easy we motored orsailed or motor-sailed directly into it at an economical fuelconserving lower engine RPM. Our strategy was paying off as we gotcloser and closer to the turning point. Over the first few days wegot in some of the best sailing I've ever encountered anywhereanytime. Later on that first leg we rode a fantastic lift for nearlya day!

At last, after days of hanging tough to earn the upper hand, we lookedat the forecasts, the current conditions, our current positionrelative to St Thomas as well as our fuel reserves… and turned to theSouth Southeast -- directly for the Virgin Islands. That was a happymoment. It's true we were cheating the plan a bit at that point butthat was only possible as a result of having resolutely stuck to theconventional wisdom and banged out that Easting.

Almost nothing broke on the boat on the entire trip. What did breakwas easy to fix such as the gas solenoid valve that started repeatedlythrowing the breaker. Trouble shooting found a bad coil in theelectromagnet so I just gutted the thing and we had to turn the gas onand off by hand when we wanted to cook. No big deal.

Back when I felt trapped by a job and social responsibilities I usedto dream of landfalls in paradise. I had my Fodor's, my cruisingguides to the Caribbean, and my well-worn copy of "World CruisingRoutes" all on a shelf next to the big bathtub that I would soak infor hours. The stress and aches and pains of a workingman's existencewould melt away then as I dreamed the dreams of the explorer. Thebest dream of all was to make a landfall on a tropical volcanic islandthat raises out of the sea, slowly revealing her lush greenness, theearth goddess's tits. As we would approach, the smells of tropicalflowers would waft out to meet us.

It was all that and more.

It's true that I had this sort of experience, somewhat by surprisewhen we made landfall in the Azores. I had not really been expectingit then and also the freaking howling cold winds and frigid spray kindof detracted from the whole tropical feel of the event… heh heh. Butthis time it was the real deal. Unfortunately, while we did get towatch those wonderful islands rise up out of the sea, just a littletoo soon afterwards the sun sank into the sea to take their place.And we did what every cruising guide for the Virgin Islands says notto do… we made our approach in the dark. We then certainly lamentedthose 4 hours we had given up in Marsh harbor waiting for high tide…

Tune in next time for the exciting conclusion to find out if we livedthru it! Be amazed at how I played "Spin the Catamaran" with some oldfriends! Hear about iguanas for breakfast! And much much more… heh heh

An easy day of driving from here (or just about anywhere in Florida),on the edge of the Ocala National Forest and just out of cell phonerange (not even roaming) is an unsung jewel of a Florida attraction.Up from the depths of the earth, rise millions of gallons of water perday; a natural spring. This spring is distinguished from otherFlorida springs by its salinity. So salty in fact that it makespossible a microenvironment of creatures normally only found in murkybrackish estuaries. And yet the water there is crystalline. Thereare schools of mullet along side blue gills, damsels alongside bass.And the stars of the show in my opinion are the blue crabs. Feedingon the mullet and blue crab alike are otters. But the special nemesisof the mullet is the osprey.

The total incongruence of finding blue crabs thriving in a clear waterpool in the middle of the state is just gonzo enough to enter therealm of the magical. We scouted the swimming hole by bicycle fromthe campground. Seeing the crabs and a few tropical fish from abovewas cool but I knew that to get the full effect we would have to comeback at it from a different angle. So the next morning we offloadedthe Kayaks, portaged them to the little canal behind our campsite(Kerri takes both bows and I take the sterns ["if you aren't the leaddog the view never changes, but viva la vista!] ) and we launched.

The entire area in front of our campsite could have been just aboutany "primitive" portion of a National Forest Campground anywhere.They seem to be pretty much cookie cutter. But behind our little RVwas old Florida and it doesn't take much of a leap of the imaginationto picture Ponce de Leon stomping about, striking another spring offof his list as it failed to make him young once more. The honeysucklewas blooming along with dogwoods and those little blue snapdragons Idon't know the name of. There was moss hanging from the severalvarieties of oaks. There were tall hickory and short juniper. Therewere long needle pines and cypress. There were cabbage and palmettopalms. Vines intertwined all and butterflies bounced along the sidesof the trail as we portaged along.

We Kayaked out of the canal and into a stiff headwind that was blowinga short chop. It would have been a steeper chop but for the shortfetch and shallow depth. It was a fine day for a little paddle and wedug into it with gusto. I kept scanning whichever shoreline was inthe lee, allowing my vision to slide along the glassy expanses ofwater near the banks. I was hunting for mermaids, a.k.a. sea cows ormanatees. Their nostrils or the disturbances of their tail wakes givethem away. No such luck. I did however spot a few otters.

On the way back we saw a spot along one bank that looked like it wouldbe a good place for alligators to haul themselves out for sunning.And there in the grasses in the water near the bank was one of thosefearsome monsters. It was a little hard to get worked up about thisone though as it was only about 12 inches long! Nevertheless it wasKerri's first alligator sighting outside of a zoo or tour boat and inmy world that is significant.

Then we turned our Kayaks to the source of the spring and made aproper approach from water. In the shallows we tied our kayaks anddonned our snorkeling gear. We devised a rather loose interpretationof the posted signs that allowed us a loophole in order to swim intothe springs from this direction… heh heh

What an amazing little pond! Against an easy current we swam upstreamthru schools of mullet and the occasional lunker bass. In the greengrasses of the bottom I spied the occasional crab-on-guard brandishingclaws in gutsy display. But the real treat was the cavernous rockformations where the waters came forth. Here were the greatestconcentration of crabs and little tropical fish. The crabs were cleanof algae and looked like little trophies and some of them not so little!

All in all it was a delightful first for me. I'm certain we will beback to this magical place many times to come. And since we arespeaking of firsts… a good as any place to segue back to where I leftoff last time approaching the Virgin Islands from the big blueAtlantic Ocean.

In the bright daylight we approached those green hills towering out ofthe ocean even though they were still far away. The water became evenmore shockingly blue against the far off dull green of the islands inthe haze. I have to mention again about the water out there. Thereis a quality of the interplay of light and water that is found only afew places on earth. One is in the deep Atlantic where shafts ofshimmering sunlight slant down and down to the depths into ever-darkerblue. The other place you can see it is in a fine blue star sapphire.

The day gave way to night while we approached. If the weather hadbeen poor we would have stood off, but the wind was moderate and theseas were low and even. Nothing about the approach we chose wastricky in the least and by the time we were in water shallow enough tocause us concern we would be within the boundaries of well markedchannels and coming into a secure harbor anchorage. Nevertheless wewere all of us nervous and on edge. There is a dichotomy of feelingsat these times, a yearning for the land and yet the sure knowledge,felt bone deep by any mariner, that the danger is the shore whilesafety is at sea. Mix that with a heavy dose of adrenaline associatedwith the adventure of making a first landfall of this kind and it's aheady mixture of feelings indeed.

As an exercise of immigration… er… I mean imagination, the naming ofplaces will be hit and miss until we clear customs in the US VirginIslands. In fact I'm not going to even swear that it's not all justfiction from here on… heh heh

The lights of St Thomas were so very bright while most of the otherislands in view were primarily dark mounds identifiable in outlineagainst the starry sky. Population distribution was as crystal clearas the waters we plied. The gap between the small islands we wouldpass between looked ever smaller and smaller although we had miles ofdeep water between them, that conflict between intellectual andemotional knowledge was tormenting us.

Then something truly strange happened. In a crackly voice I startedhearing someone not among our crew call me by "thatboatguy". We wereso busy being alternately freaked out and ecstatic about the landfallthat it took several utterances of that radio call to get thru to myconscious thought.

"Vessel calling thatboatguy this is Gypsy Wind". It turns out it wasanother friend I had yet to meet from our circle of friends on theinternet. Cliff had met him on an earlier visit to the Islands whilecrewing the delivery of yet another friends boat… small world. Kevinwanted to know where we were and I told him our position. He lived upon a hill on St Thomas that had a line of sight to us although he wasmany miles away and reported that he couldn't see our lights. When Iflashed our spotlight in the general direction of his house we wereall surprised that he could see us. Even though Chuck had done thesame thing with a friend of his via cell phone it was still a surprisethat a spotlight could be seen from that distance. I mentally addedone of those inexpensive battery operated spotlights to S/V Mana'sditch bag.

A short while later we were able to make out details of the island wewere approaching. And before we knew it we were anchored andlaunching the dinghy, suddenly drawn by the sounds of music and peoplehaving fun at the funky bars ashore. Alas, we were too late to getany food and since I used up all my beer chits by November of 1984,there was a limited attraction for me and I had Chuck take me back tothe boat early. I fixed myself some noodles and crashed hard.

The next morning I sat in the cockpit with coffee and watched the suncreeping up the tall hill on the west side of the tight little harborwe were in. We were still in the very cool and fragrant shadow of thehill to the east. There were only a few other early risers in theanchorage and we nodded silent acknowledgment to one another, but whenthe sun finally cleared that hill and splashed down on us, and Cliffstirred below, I could no longer stay put. So we commandeered thedinghy and took out in search of breakfast. Eventually Chuck woke up,hitched a ride in with other sleepy heads, and joined us at the littleopen-air restaurant. With a full belly, the warm breeze tussling myhair, a forth cup of coffee, the sunlight sparkling the waters of thepretty bay, and the companionship of my shipmates, I developed aslight problem with my butt; it seems that it was stuck to that chair…heh heh

We needed a second "technical" stop that morning in order for Chuck toget our papers in order for clearing in. So we upped our anchor andmoved off to another splendid little bay. I was told that there was areef to snorkel on nearby so I went off exploring in that direction.The waters of the bay were sedimented and cloudy and the reef turnedout to be dead rock. I saw one little green sea turtle and sometropical fish but I am so jaded now I felt cheated at having made theeffort to swim over to it.

Back aboard Gypsy Wind with some more time to kill I picked up thespyglasses and scanned the anchorage for boats I might know. When youconsider the vastness of the oceans and her countless harbors andweigh that against a few score boats out of thousands that I mightrecognize as belonging to friends of mine, you may determine that Iwas engaged in a fool's errand. But what you would fail to take intoaccount is the magic of synchronicity. And low and behold! There atthe far side of this big smile of a bay, was a familiar lookingcatamaran. I was just able to make out her name in graphics on herport hull… Indigo Moon! Buddy and Melissa! And the big smile of thebay was reflected on my face.

Once again Cliff and I commandeered the dinghy and sped across thebay. I took her off plain as we neared and Cliff began fumblingaround with the painter in preparation to tying on. But I asked himto sit back down instead and eased the rubber stem of the in-flat-abledinghy up against her port hull and slowly opened up the throttle ofthe 25 horsepower Honda outboard motor… heh heh I spun Indigo Moonaround in a circle! We then got to watch as Buddy came flying outonto the bridge and saw him go thru every human emotion in order as hetried to wrap his brain around the situation. Then Melissa also cameup on deck, slightly less perplexed having been briefed by Buddy. Iguess I'm about the last person they thought they would see out there.We made tentative plans to get together soon and parted so that wecould go get cleared in proper.

After clearing in on St Johns… we seem to be naming places again hehheh. We took off sailing for St Thomas across the way.

Lets all have a moment of reverence while I describe this short sail.The winds were moderate, perhaps 15 knots, although the sea state wasalmost flat. The sun was out with only high cotton balls of cloudswidely dispersed. The wind was warm as cotton from the dryer pulledacross my skin. The stark borders of steep green hills and deep bluewaters had us sailing valleys amongst the mountains. I give up. I'mpowerless to properly describe it. Look at all the photos and videosyou like. You will never ever capture this feeling unless you go outthere and do it.

We got Gypsy Wind into her slip in sapphire bay without happenstanceand soon had her washed and tidied all up.

Over the next few days we had some fun poking around St Thomas and StJohn. We had breakfast at a little restaurant down in a boatyardwhere big iguanas scurried around our feet hoping for scraps (iguanasfor breakfast). One other event of note is a dinner we had of agathering of friends in the area. We all went out to a waterfrontrestaurant with live entertainment. Buddy and Melissa were over fromSt John for their laundry day and met up with Kevin and his wife aswell as Robbie D. Cliff and I rode over in a skiff with Chuck.

Cliff and I flew home to Baltimore where Cliff was able to spend a fewdays with Kerri and I before he had to return to even colder Indi.Our luggage did not make it to Baltimore however and I was ever sohappy that I had put a pair of blue jeans into my carry on bag! Cliffwas not as prepared and I got to watch his calves turn blue out on thearrival ramp while we waited for Kerri to circle around to get us. Itwas cooold! Woof!

And that pushes us down just into page number five. Too long-windedagain but I did manage to wrap this fantastic trip up.

I lost a lot of photos in a computer crash but I did find this one. It's the pendant I made form the bit of conch shell I found in the Bahamas before we shoved off. It's in Kerri's jewelry box although she rarely wears this one.